On a dark country road in Indian Country, the lessons of childhood come back quickly when the police pull you over. As a nation debates police violence, we should know that Native people are the ethnicity most likely to be killed by law enforcement.
I am a woman of mixed races. I grew up being called a squaw, half-breed, white, redskin and other names—none meant in a good way. I grew up wondering exactly where I fit in. Then I went to an all-Indian technical school.
Sometimes it is hard to believe we still have to deal with racist misanthropic garbage that has been heaped on Natives since first contact. In some areas we have come so far, from having a Native as a U.S.
New Mexico Governor Susana Martinez recently cut a deal with the U.S.
On February 14, 2014 President Obama began the White House initiative to bring peace to the justice practices of American communities which he named “My Brother’s Keeper.” Today, this initiative continues to address the disparate treatment of African-Americans in
Connecticut activists working on the mascot issue need some suggestions about movies or other cultural events we could use to educate about Indian nations. There’s been some small progress in Connecticut in getting rid of Indian mascots, but not enough.
When there are too many white people at a venue, I get scared. Please don't judge me; my best friend is white (Hi, Rhonda!) I know some great white people, but it is you bad apples who ruin it for your ethnicity.
Adam Sandler, I am a Jew. Although we don’t share the same taste in comedy, I had always loved that you put Jews out there. You made us visible.
Pope Francis recently trumped political correctness on yet another sensitive topic: the Turkish massacre of Armenian people 100 years ago.
Our campaign to end the use of Native American nicknames and mascots by Maine’s public schools has reached the last community, Skowhegan, still clinging to the tenets protected by acceptable institutional racism.
Being Indian in the State of Maine is like living on an iceberg of racism—a raceburg.
It was a cool, late autumn Sunday and the Washington football team was playing a home game.
I engaged in a pitched, life-and-death, brutal, bloody battle with four racist young white men on a lonely dark rural road in Creek County, Oklahoma in 1971. I was a 22-year-old college student and a citizen of the Comanche Nation of Oklahoma.
As a state in the heartland of the country, Indiana has long been associated with “Hoosier Hospitality” and down-home charm. A sleepy Midwestern gem, it is not accustomed to wide-spread attention for much.